I sure would be lost in a pit of lonliness and despair.
Summer has attempted to rise it's sleepy head and winter tucks it's in for the night.
But we refuse to allow it.
Stubbornly stood the white frigid man at the end of the drive.
Wooden nose drooping and the moss combover for hair breezing in the wind.
Once again the moon shines brightly as we drive away laughing, leaving behind us a memior of winter and a good time had.